


We Are Miraculous

by GalahadWilder



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: ADHD, ADHD Alya Césaire, ADHD Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ableism, Ableist Language, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Anxiety Disorder Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Asperger's, Asperger's Syndrome, Autism, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Autistic Adrien Agreste, Depressed Nino Lahiffe, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, OCD, OCD Alya Césaire, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, PTSD Nino Lahiffe, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, asd, mental illness stigma, neurodivergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: When a bigoted politician blames mental illness for Paris's Akuma problem, Ladybug publicly reveals her own struggles with anxiety on the front page of the Ladyblog. Now, with their leader under fire for "not deserving the position of hero," the Miraculous team launches a public campaign for awareness of the struggles of the neurodivergent—beginning with themselves.





	1. Exposed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexSeanchai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSeanchai/gifts), [Pagan In Purple (Lunar_L)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_L/gifts).
  * Inspired by [No One is Perfect, Not Even a Superhero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021943) by [ohstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars). 



Ladybug worries her lip with her teeth as she looks over the connecting cables. She knows which ones go where—she’s the one who added the ports to the yo-yo—but this moment isn’t one she’s been looking forward to.

She flips open the compact, positions it so she can see the screen, and mounts the webcam on the railing. She picked this roof because it’s about eight blocks from her house, so there’s no chance of anyone using context clues to guess her identity. The webcam’s USB cable slots into the yo-yo with ease; she wishes, just a little, that she’d had to struggle with it. Getting annoyed always calms her nerves for some reason, and this, right here, is the most nerve-wracking thing she’s ever done.

The webcam set up, she presses _record_ on the yo-yo, then steps back into frame. She crosses her arms in front of herself, clutching her wrist, then thinks better of it and lets go. She raises her chin, takes a breath, and looks straight into the camera.

“My name is Ladybug,” she says. “And I have an anxiety disorder.”

* * *

It started with some jackass on TVi. There’d been a new study on PTSD in Akuma victims, and whether it increased the risk of repeated Akumatizations; Nadja Chamack had interviewed a few experts on psychology, and then this one guy—a municipal councilor the 16th Arrondissement, all the way across the city from the 21st where most Akuma attacks were concentrated—decided to open his big mouth.

“Obviously, the problem is the prevalence of untreated mental illness among Parisians,” he’d said. “Hawkmoth takes advantage of emotional instability. These loonies he targets are just as dangerous as he is—we should be devoting police efforts to keeping an eye on the people who are _so clearly_ the most likely to be evilized—”

An actual expert cut him off at that moment—that was _most definitely_ not how Akumatization worked, not even _slightly—_ but the damage was already done.

By the end of the week, violence and discrimination against the neurodivergent had spiked. The Ladyblog was flooded with reports of “thwarted Akuma attacks” that were in fact just unprovoked violence, physical or verbal, against vulnerable people. With one stupid interview, anyone who showed a single sign of “otherness” in public had become a potential victim of an unforgiving public. Many people had become too afraid to go outside; some of them were missing vital treatments for fear of the kangaroo court of public opinion.

If Ladybug didn’t know any better, she’d say that Hawkmoth had paid off the guy. He couldn’t have created a better atmosphere for Akuma if he’d been trying. Given the ones she’d had to fight this week—most of them desperate, scared people who’d been offered an escape from the judgment—Hawkmoth was _reveling_ in this.

That couldn’t fly. Ladybug couldn’t let it.

* * *

Now, on the roof, Ladybug looks into the webcam, breathes, and begins. “My name is Ladybug,” she says. “And I have an anxiety disorder.”

She has to take a moment, as her heart clenches and tugs her ribcage inward, before she can speak again. She looks away from the camera, her mouth open, unable to actually say anything.

She decides, in the moment, not to edit this out. It’s important. People need to see her struggling, people need to see that she’s like them.

Finally, she turns back to the camera, rubbing her temples. “If you’re watching this,” she says, “there’s a good chance that you, or someone you love, has a mental illness.” She closes her eyes, clenches her teeth, trying not to growl. “Édouard Caron has claimed that these people are dangerous. That they are targets for Hawkmoth.” Her arms fall to her sides, and she opens her eyes, raises her eyebrows, purses her lips. “Of course, that requires ignoring the fact that the vast majority of Akuma are caused by _nothing of the sort.”_

She steps forward, clenching a fist. “Chat Noir and I have repeated, again and again, that Akumatization is _not the victim’s fault_. Monsieur Caron: what you said on Monday was irresponsible, dangerous, and above all, _false_.” She turns away from the camera again, breathing in. “Most of my friends have been Akumatized, and they are, as far as I know, _way_ more mentally stable than I am.”

The enormity of what she’s doing crashes in on her again, and she whimpers. “God, I wish Chat were here,” she says, clutching at her elbow.

She’d better leave that in the final product too.

She clears her throat, looks back at the camera. “My name is Ladybug,” she says. “And, like I said, I have an anxiety disorder.” She smiles. “Also, probably ADHD, but I haven’t had that checked.” She glances away again. “I have… panic episodes,” she mumbles. “Hyperfixations. I’m always worried about worst-case scenarios, even when they’re completely unreasonable. My friends always tell me I need to get out of my own head, but…” She snorts, looking back at the camera. “Easier said than done, right?”

She points at the camera. “Long story short. I am mentally ill. I take medication. If Monsieur Caron were correct, I should have been Akumatized _multiple times already_.” She grins. “Instead, I have actually _driven off_ every Akuma that Hawkmoth tried to send after me, simply by willpower.” She raises a fist, clenches it. “Anxiety is my superpower,” she says, moving her hand to point at her temple. “Nothing Hawkmoth sends after me can ever be worse than what’s in my own brain.”

She turns around, hugs herself, and breathes. _Almost done,_ she thinks. _Just one more minute. Then you can get off camera and go grab some blankets._

She turns back to the camera. “Neurodivergence is not—not inherently dangerous,” she says. “Despite my anxiety, I’ve been entrusted with one of the greatest powers in the universe, and the responsibility to use it wisely. And as most anyone in Paris can tell you…” She spreads her arms. “I kind of have.” She blinks, slowly, breathes in, then out. “I ask everyone who watches this video to—to spread it, to show it to your friends. Édouard Caron is _wrong_. And if you’re like me…” She clutches her elbow again. “If your brain doesn’t always do what you want, remember that you aren’t alone. The Hero of Paris is with you.” She lets go, gives a quick wave. “Bug out!”

* * *

She sends the video straight to Alya as soon as it’s done editing. Alya’s response is an all-caps keysmash, and a rapid turnaround, posting the video straight to the front page of the Ladyblog. 2 hours and 10,000 hits later, Marinette’s heart finally stops clenching every time she reloads the page and sees another few hundred people have watched her expose her shame in front of the entire city, and she calms down enough to go to sleep.

* * *

“I can’t _believe_ that asshole!” Alya screeches the next morning, slamming her phone onto the desk.

“Wha?” Marinette murmurs, lifting her head from the desk where she’s been taking a quick power nap.

Alya’s face is apoplexy-red—Marinette can see the veins popping on her forehead. “I just… I can’t…” Her right eye flutters closed, like she’d eaten something so sour she’d lost control of her face. “You know that asshole from the 16th Arrondissement who was calling for mass surveillance on the mentally ill?”

Marinette’s chest tightens. _No._ “Yeah,” she says, trying to keep her voice level. “I’ve heard of the guy.”

Alya shakes her head. “I just… Here,” she says, thrusting the phone into Marinette’s face.

Marinette looks down, and her entire body goes cold.

_Caron Questions Hero’s Qualifications After Shocking Confession from Ladybug_

“What an absolute _ass_ ,” Chloé growls from behind them. Alya nods along.

Marinette can’t breathe. It’s all she can do not to cry.


	2. Support

_Caron Questions Hero’s Qualifications After Shocking Confession from Ladybug_

Marinette—she can’t—her chest is collapsing, the edges of her vision are darkening. _Leave this to the professionals,_ Roger Raincomprix says. _You’re endangering Paris with your obsession with playing hero,_ Hawkmoth says. _You’re nothing without Chat Noir,_ says Antibug. The earrings are burning in her lobes, her breath is coming short and fast, every failure every screwup every Akuma she’s ever caused crashing through her brain and the tears won’t stop coming but they also won’t go, they’re stuck in her eyes and she can’t bring herself to blink.

"Mari?" Alya says.

Mari's head shudders. Alya's staring at her. Judging. She has to be judging. Adrien and Nino's eyes are on her too, and Caron is _right,_ everything's crashing in on her and she _knows_ she's not the right person for the earrings, way down deep in her chest she knows she should never have tried to take the earrings back from Alya.

"Nette?" Nino says. He's standing, his hand gentle on her arm. "Come on, breathe with me."

She tries, but her breath won't stabilize, won't steady. Were the walls of the classroom always this close? Everyone's looking at her, she can't, she can't, she _can't_ —

Her stomach leaps into her mouth and she's out the door, running for the bathroom, before she even has a chance to think.

* * *

The class is silent in Marinette's wake, rattled by her slipstream. It's like the aftermath of an Akuma attack, Alya muses, at she taps the charm on her phone at the thought.

Front of the class. Madame Bustier.

"I'll go check on her," Lila says, standing. Everyone in the class looks at her in relief; someone's looking out for Marinette.

Alya's eyes narrow and her stomach clenches. She's still having trouble reconciling what she knows now with what she believed—her head is screaming at her to trust Lila, to follow through on that instinct she had the day they met, but she knows she can't. "I'm her best friend," Alya says. "I've got it."

"You sure?" Lila says. It's sweet. Her voice sounds sweet.

"Yeah," Alya says. "I'm sure." She steps around her desk. "I think I know what's wrong, anyway."

"She's a spaz," Chloé says. "Same as always."

Alya flips her off as walks out the door.

Lockers to her left; Ivan Bruel. Hallway to her right; Mylène Haprèle. She taps her phone charm twice, once for each.

She knows which bathroom Marinette went to: same place she always goes during an episode. Same place Juleka got Reflekta-ed. Alya hates, hates, _hates_ that bathroom. She hates anywhere an Akuma landed. She can’t _not know_ every single one, either. School is hell sometimes.

She grits her teeth and squeezes her phone charm, trying to wring as much Ladybug luck out of it as possible, before she pushes open the door.

Marinette is gasping quietly inside one of the stalls, trying not to sob. She goes silent as soon as the door opens, and Alya knows she’s holding her breath. Doesn’t want anyone to know she’s here. Doesn’t want to be a burden.

”Marinette,” she says, trying to keep her voice as calming as possible. “I’m sorry, I should’ve... prepared you better. For seeing that.”

Marinette sniffles, but doesn’t say anything. Alya sees her feet vanish from the space under the stall door; she’s gone into the fetal position on top of the toilet. Not good.

Alya leans against the stall door. “You know nobody believes him, right?”

”Enough people do,” Marinette whispers.

“And are those people whose opinions matter?”

Marinette is silent for a moment. Then: “I feel so—so stupid.”

Alya sits down agains the stall and tilts her head. “Why?”

”It was...” She hiccups. “It was so _small_. It didn’t matter. It’s... it’s not like... it’s not like he was talking about—about me, right?” She sniffles. “It’s just—when Ladybug made that video, I felt... I felt...”

”Validated,” Alya finishes.

”...Yeah.” Based on the sound, Marinette is pulling some toilet paper from the roll. “With all the... the Chloé, you think I’d be—” She blows her nose. “I’d be more... numb to this.”

”You know as well as I do that’s not how trauma works,” Alya mutters.

Marinette blows her nose again, a gross wet elephant snort, and Alya giggles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Marinette grumbles, but it’s a calmer grumble, lighthearted, and Alya can tell she’s feeling a little better at least.

She’s not sure how to broach the subject, the elephant in the room. There’s... well. “...I’m sorry for not believing you about Lila,” she says.

”What?” Marinette says. “What brought that up?”

Alya sighs. “You’re not very tech-savvy, Mari,” she says. “You downloaded that video editing software last night, didn’t you.”

There’s a moment of absolute silence before Marinette squeaks, “What?”

”You sent me the video from the yo-yo,” Alya says, “but the software you used left your regular username in the metadata. I made sure nobody else saw it, but...” She sighs. “I can’t un-know. Sorry.”

Marinette says nothing. Her breathing is quiet now, shallow.

“You’re not just _a_ hero, Marinette,” Alya says. “You’re _my_ hero.” The bell rings, signifying that it’s time for class, but neither of them moves. “What you did last night is the bravest thing I have ever seen _anyone_ do. And I am behind you one hundred percent.”

”Alya,” Marinette whispers, distress evident in her voice.

”You’ve saved me enough,” Alya says. “More times than I even know about, I’ll bet.” She turns, lays her hand flat on the stall door. “Let me return the favor one more time.”

”Nobody can know.”

Alya shakes her head. “I’m not an idiot,” she says, then she squints one eye as she remembers—“Lila notwithstanding.” She leans her head back, popping her neck. “Can I... borrow Trixx? Just for this afternoon?”

The latch of the stall clacks open, and the door swings inward. “No beating up politicians,” Marinette says with a playful glare.

Alya places a hand over her heart and raises one upward. “I swear,” she says with a grin. “Just a bit of video stuff.”

Marinette grimaces.

Alya tilts her head and smiles. “You sure I can’t rough him up just a little?”

Marinette laughs, finally, and Alya’s chest lightens at the sound. “No, Alya,” she says with the first genuine smile Alya’s seen on her face all morning. “That’s bad hero form.”

” _There_ she is,” Alya says, wrapping one arm around Marinette’s shoulders and noogieing her with the other fist. “Come on,” she says. “Lila doesn’t know I’m onto her yet. Wanna go fuck with her?”


	3. Assemble

This may well be the worst morning of Adrien Agreste’s life. And he's had a lot of bad mornings.

His hands haven’t shaken this badly since the day he realized his mother wasn’t coming back. Every single sense is cranked up to twelve: he can feel every itchy, excruciating fiber of the clothes against his skin, the babble of the classroom and the whine of the fans in every electronic device assaults his ears, every blinking light tries to snatch his attention. He’s on the verge of another of what his mother always called his “episodes” in an exasperated tone—there’s a brief memory of her tearing up, asking if he can’t just once not overreact to such inconsequential things. He still doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for him to control. And his father refuses to acknowledge it.

_Caron Questions Hero’s Qualifications After Shocking Confession from Ladybug_

Adrien wants to scream. He wants to vomit. He knows that, right now, his Lady is seeing the same headline he is. He knows that, despite her incredible strength, there are places where she is fragile. He knows that right now she must be breaking. She needs him, she needs him and he can’t get to her, and everything’s too loud and too close.

Marinette is okay at least, Alya is taking care of her. Adrien wishes he could have helped but right now he’s an upside-down remote control car, wheels spinning uselessly in the air as he rocks in the mud. He hugs his chest, holding onto his biceps—he's rocking slightly in his chair, trying not to lose control. _You're better than this_ , he thinks, in a voice that sounds very much like his mother's, trying to help him past an episode. _You're **stronger** than this. You're not gonna get overwhelmed—_

"Adrien," Nino says, very softly. It layers on top of everything else, but thinly, barely a push on top of all the rest of the things screaming for his attention. Adrien turns his head, looks at Nino's collarbones—can't meet his eyes right now. Too hard. Too—Adrien doesn't know the word.

Nino is holding a mechanical pencil; Adrien's not quite sure where he got it, he doesn't use them. He quickly and calmly disassembles it, laying the pieces out in front of Adrien.

Adrien blinks, and then his hands reach out and twist the top of the pencil back onto the body, and all of the lights and noises assaulting his senses begin to quiet down. He slides the eraser tube back into the pencil. The buzzing from the overhead lights is still there, but he can push it back now, ignore it. He can hear Madame Bustier's lecture again without it being garbled.

He clicks the pencil once, twice, three times, then pushes the lead back in so it's short enough not to snap when he writes. _How did you know that would work?_ he scribbles on the edge of his notebook, not even bothering to put in the (usually painful) effort it takes to make his handwriting legible, much less the "elegance expected of an Agreste."

Miraculously, somehow, Nino can read it. He snaps the cap of his pen back and forth with his thumb, then scratches out a message on his own notebook— _Chris does the same thing._

Adrien nods and tries to hand the pencil back to Nino, but Nino shakes his head, pushing it back. " _You gotta fidget,"_ he whispers.

Adrien takes the pencil back, confused; but by the time class lets out for lunch and he's disassembled and reassembled the pencil enough times that he's lost track of the number, he thinks he might be starting to understand.

* * *

"Hey Lila?" Alya says as they're getting up for lunch. "Uh... what happened to your hair?"

Adrien—along with the rest of the class—turns to look, but he can't see what Alya's talking about; Lila's hair looks pretty normal to him. Everyone else in the class looks confused too.

Lila reaches up to paws desperately at her scalp. "No, no, no," she whispers. "Alya, is there something in my hair?"

Alya blinks. "Oh, um, no, it's nothing!" she giggles. "Looks nice."

Adrien can't quite tell if she's being sarcastic. He suspects it, yeah, but anyway that's not important right now.

"Nino," he says as he stuffs his backpack, "I've got something kind of urgent I gotta do for the next few minutes. I'll meet you in the park in ten?"

Nino tilts his head, pursing his lip. "Yeah, sure," he says, mercifully not asking what it is that Adrien is doing, which is good because he hadn't planned out a lie and he's not great at coming up with them on the spot.

* * *

On the roof of the school, Chat Noir paces, staring at the screen of his baton-phone. Is now a bad time to call? What if she's mad at him for it? What if she hasn't seen the headline yet and _he_ causes a panic attack?

He presses call.

"Kitty?" Her voice comes through the speakers clear as magic, high and soft and calm, and his lungs unwind from where they've tightened themselves around his heart, finally allowing him to breath again. "You okay?"

He slumps against the roof access door. "Actually, I was gonna ask _you_ that," he says. "I, um, I saw the..."

Ladybug sighs. "The op-ed."

"Yeah." He licks his lips. "I'm—I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. When, you know, when you saw it. This morning."

"Oh, _Chaton_ ," she says with a sad chuckle. "I know." He hears her snort. "I know you'd have been there if you knew who I was, but—"

"You two should kiss! _"_ shouts another voice from the same line, much quieter and much farther away.

"Shut _up_ , Rena!" Ladybug giggles.

Chat straightens at the sound of her laugh. "You're not alone," he says, smiling.

"Yeah," Ladybug says. "I... kind of accidentally blew my identity to Rena last night, so she found me this morning as soon as the article came out. Took care of me for a bit."

Chat's chest falls. "Oh," he says. "That's... that's good." He's glad she had somebody with her, but...

Evidently she hears the hurt in his voice."You know I would've told you first if I thought it was safe," she says. "If it had been intentional—"

There's jostling on the other end of the line, a quick _give me that_ and a _hands off_ before Rena's voice is coming out of the speaker. "I only found out by accident," she says. "And a little detective work. Can confirm, she didn't mean for it to happen."

Chat's ribcage loosens a bit again. "Oh," he says.

"If I'd had a choice it would've been you!" he hears Ladybug call towards the phone, and his heart leaps.

"Listen," Rena says. "I have an idea. Do you know where the Lycée François Dupont is? Ground zero for Horrificator, Reflekta, and Zombizou?"

Chat raises an eyebrow and looks down at that very school under his feet. "I'm... familiar, yeah," he says.

"Meet us on the roof after school lets out," Rena says. "We've got a message for Caron and we need you to help us deliver it."

"Yeah?" Chat says, rising to his feet.

"Yeah," Rena says. "No matter what: _we stand with Ladybug_."


	4. Full

When Adrien comes back from whatever it was he had to do so urgently, he seems a lot calmer. Nino's glad—he's just watched two of his closest friends have barely-averted meltdowns over a vicious op-ed directed at someone else, and he's not sure how to help either of them. Oh, he can put on a happy face and try to cheer them up, sure, but it doesn't change how useless he feels. And how little he thinks it's going to work.

He misses his bubbles. He used to carry a bubble wand everywhere he went—now his hands shake every time he even looks at one, and he can barely even muster the energy to hate Hawkmoth for taking them from him.

"Doing any better?" Nino says as Adrien trudges down the steps of François DuPont, hands in his pockets. He's standing straighter than he was when he left.

"Yeah," Adrien says with a small smile. He isn't rocking anymore the way he was in class, and when he speaks he actually manages to meet Nino's eyes, so... that's a good sign.

"Dad stuff?" Nino says. He wants to put his arm around Adrien's shoulder—physical contact usually helps the dude, he gets so little of it in his everyday life—but Nino knows from Chris and Mari that sensory overload usually responds poorly to extra stimulation. (He's been doing a lot of research into mental health since Enzo... well, since Enzo. He tugs on his hat. He's surprised that he didn't react much to Caron's diatribes. But, then again, not _that_ surprised.)

Adrien shakes his head. "No, not—not this time," he says. His lips twist, and Nino waits for him to elaborate further, but he says nothing.

Nino nods. "Come on," he says. "I'm taking you to Marinette's and we are going to stuff you with sugar until you forget all about what's bothering you."

Adrien perks up at that, a glint in his eyes, and Nino's heart lifts a little at the sight.

* * *

Every step towards the bakery, Adrien relaxes a little more. Nino’s not sure who he called—he hopes it’s a therapist, because sweet turtle god does he need one—but it definitely helped.

Adrien pushes through the door first, all nervous energy, half-excitement and half-fear, while Nino trudges after him. The lunch rush is in full swing, so the bakery floor is packed, but Sabine still catches sight of them as soon as they walk through the door.

”Hello, boys!” she calls over the crowd with a welcoming smile.

”Hi, Sabine,” Nino says.

Adrien waves nervously, shrinking imperceptibly toward the outer wall. Too many people.

Nino catches his eye. “I’ll order,” he says. “Your usual?”

Adrien swallows and nods.

Waiting in line doesn’t take very long, not that Nino minds. He’s not particularly hungry and he doesn’t really think about inconvenience; as long as Adrien’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. (He is going to have to eat, though. Doctor’s orders.)

He gets to the front of the line and places his and Adrien’s orders just as Tom comes bustling out of the back with a tray of sticky buns. “Oh, Nino!” he says. “We missed you at Mecha Strike last week.”

Nino shakes his head with a rueful smile plastered on his face. “Sorry, dude,” he says. “Other commitments, you know how it is.” He feels guilty for the fib, and guiltier for being unable to drag himself out of bed to see his friend. But that was last week.

”The girls are having lunch in the park,” Sabine says conspiratorially as she hands him a paper bag with his and Adrien’s lunches in it, as well as two cardboard cups. “I’m sure they’d love for you two to join them.” She adds a small wink as she presses the button on the register to process his (heavily discounted) meal.

”I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, feeling a brief spark of mischief light up his brain before burning out.

He pushes through the crowd and the jingling door to find Adrien waiting outside at the patio table. “Hey, dude,” he says, handing Adrien his hot chocolate. “Feeling better?”

Adrien nods, taking the hot chocolate in both hands and sniffing the steam. “Nectar of the Gods,” he murmurs with delight.

”Sabine said Alya and Mari are having lunch in the park, if you want to join them,” Nino says. He hopes Adrien agrees. He still needs to check on Marinette.

”Yeah, I’m down,” Adrien says without looking up from his drink.

* * *

“Oh! Adrien!”

Nino doesn’t miss the way Adrien deflates at the sound of Lila’s voice. He’s not sure why Adrien dislikes her so much—as far as he can tell, Lila’s a perfectly pleasant, if a bit overenthusiastic, person. But she makes Adrien uncomfortable and as far as this goes, that’s all Nino really needs to know.

”Hey Lila!” Nino says with more cheer than he feels, putting a hand protectively on Adrien’s shoulder. “Adrien and I were just having a little _guys_ ’ lunch.” He tries to emphasize the word guys, tell her ‘leave us alone, please.’

”Oh!” Lila says. “Mind if I join?” She latches onto Adrien’s arm before either of them can speak, and Nino glances at Adrien—he’s gone tense, frozen. He’s not gonna say anything and if Nino does he might freak.

”Sure,” Nino grumbles. “Why not.” This is not good—Adrien’s rarely this nonverbal for this length of time. Whatever peace his call at the beginning of lunch had brought him, Lila’s just shattered, and Nino has no idea how to make her leave. He wishes she knew how uncomfortable she makes Adrien, but she seems a bit too oblivious to catch on.

”Can you believe that Caron piece?” Lila says as they walk into the park. “It was so uncalled for!” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I told Ladybug that video might be a bad idea, but she _insisted_ it was important to her.” She sighs dreamily. “She’s so brave.”

Adrien grunts, and Nino flinches at the sound. But then he spots Alya and Marinette on a picnic blanket nearby, laughing and sharing croissants, and he relaxes a bit.

Alya’s head pops up, and she brightens when she sees them. “Oh, hi guys!” She says. “Come join us!”

”Of course!” Lila giggles, dragging Adrien after her and yanking him down to the blanket. Nino doesn’t miss the way Marinette bristles, and all he can think is, _please don’t start this again._

“Oh, Lila, I have something for you!” Alya says, reaching into her bag. She flips open the top and produces... a bottle of mouthwash? She presents it to Lila with a proud flourish. “Here you go!”

The whole group falls into utter silence as Lila stares at the green bottle in Alya’s hands. “I—what?” the Italian girl says, weakly. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s about to puke.

"Oh, I thought...” Alya’s face falls. “Nevermind. Sorry.” She turns to stuff the bottle back into her backpack.

Lila’s face blanches further and she shoots to her feet. “I—I just remembered,” she says. “Mama needed me home today for—we’re, we’re organizing some charity work, so I need to go—”

”Of course!” Alya laughs, waving. “Good luck.”

Lila bolts.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Alya’s genuine grin turns savage. “Should’ve taken the mouthwash,” she growls. “Maybe it’ll clean the aftertaste of the bullshit you’re spewing.”

Marinette covers her mouth and giggles, her face red, and Adrien stares at Alya before collapsing into his back. “Thank god,” he says.

”Uh,” Nino says. “What was that?”

Alya sighs and rolls her eyes. "Remember how I told Marinette to fact-check Lila?"

Marinette winces at the words.

"Yeah?" Nino says. Ugh, he doesn’t want to have this discussion again—

Alya twists her lips and wraps her arm around Mari’s shoulder, pulling her in close. "Well, she did,” Alya says. “And now I feel like an idiot."

Nino blinks, an ember of dull rage sparking in his chest. She _was_ lying? About—about _everything?_

Lila was—Marinette has always been someone he trusts. He may not understand why she's so insistent on hiding the anxiety attacks she has whenever there's an Akuma, and her excuses are getting ridiculous, but he grew up with her—she's never been someone who lied before. And he always knew Lila was kind of a flake. But the person Mari’s accusations posited couldn't possibly have existed—she'd painted a picture of absolutely _comic_ pettiness and villainy—on level with Adrien’s _dad_. And Lila is _actually like that?_ He can barely believe someone like that exists at their age.

Much as he's wanted to, he hasn't really been able to care about the Basielberg connection after that first day. But he's not the only one Lila hurt.

He glances at Adrien as a number of things start to click in his head. “Is _that_ why you’re so uncomfortable around her?”

”She hurt Marinette,” Adrien says without picking up his head. Nino can tell he has more to say, but he doesn't seem to want to.

Marinette looks down at her sandwich, steadily reddening. “She hurt you too, you know,” she whispers.

”And nobody gets to hurt either of you again,” Alya says, lightly punching Marinette’s shoulder.

Marinette winces, laughing, then her laugh slows and she goes back to a small smile, laying herself across Alya's lap. "I've missed this," she says.

Nino looks around, sees his friends, how comfortable they are now for the first time since Lila came back to school, and thinks, _so did I._


	5. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place before Miracle Queen.

Scraps of paper fall around Chloé’s legs, some of them onto her pants. She brushes them away with barely a glance, too focused on the newspaper she is currently attacking with the scissors in her right hand—paying special attention to the face of the man on the cover.

The scissors aren’t enough, and she slams them onto her vanity with a growl, tearing into the newspaper with her fingers. “ _Rip your stupid ridiculous face,_ ” she growls at the picture of Edouard Carón as her fingernails cut into his paper cheeks, scattering bits of newspaper across her vanity.

She turns, glances at Sabrina behind her, and holds up a hand. “Another one,” she says, her fingers clutching at the scissors again.

Sabrina stands, newspapers held in crossed arms against her chest, chewing her lip. “Are you sure this is the best idea, Chloé?” she asks.

Chloé grimaces, turning in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee, fingertips brushing disdainfully at her capris. “You _heard_ what Daddy said, right?” she snarls. She leans forward, jabbing her finger at Carón’s smug bastard face, causing Sabrina to stumble backwards. “Apparently _Monsieur Ladybug-Hater_ ‘can’t be fired for having an opinion.’ Even if it’s a stupid one.” She flips her ponytail, turning back to her mirror and staring into the blue of her own eyes. “What’s the _point_ of being Mayor of Paris if you can’t fire idiots who insult superheroes?”

Sabrina clears her throat. “Um, I’m—I’m not sure your dad could fire him anyway?”

Chloé groans, dropping her head onto the vanity on top of crossed arms. “I know,” she mumbles. “I just wish he could.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sabrina tentatively reach for her shoulder, then draw back, pressing the newspapers back to her chest.

”You don’t deserve this,” Chloé whispers to the Ladybug costume she can see reflected in the mirror, hanging in her closet. “ _They_ don’t deserve _you_.”

She sits for a minute in silence, silence only broken by Sabrina’s nervous shuffling, before the other girl finally clears her throat. “I thought—I thought we were still mad at Ladybug?” she says. “Since, you know...” Her eyes flick downward, looking at herself, and Chloé knows she means Miraculer, when Ladybug fired her.

Chloé straightens, slamming a fist on her vanity, and Sabrina jumps. Chloé’s eyes narrow. “Ladybug might not be able to see talent when she’s looking at it,” she snarls, “but she’s _still_ doing a better job than anyone in Paris could except me.” She snatches one of the newspapers from Sabrina’s arms, uncaring that she’s caused the rest of them to scatter to the floor, and lifts the scissors, preparing to take the blade to Carón’s face again, when suddenly her phone rings.

Her eyes meet Sabrina’s—both of them confused, both of them lost—before she looks down at the phone. _Blocked Number._

She picks it up, slides to answer, and puts it to her ear. “You shouldn’t have called this number, you piece—”

_”Hi Queenie.”_

Chloé’s breath catches, her stomach curling in on itself like a caterpillar. “Who—who is this?” she says. She’s fairly certain she recognizes that voice—are they planning to threaten her? Do they want a Miraculous? She’s told everyone who came after her that she’s been fired, that she’s not Queen Bee anymore, but all these losers keep getting her number, keep pestering her, and she’s thinking of changing her number just to make them stop.

Still, every one of them so far has called her “Madamoiselle Bourgeois” or “Queen Bee” or “Madamoiselle Bee.” Never Queenie. Only a few people have ever called her Queenie.

” _It’s Rena Rouge,_ ” the voice on the other end of the line says, and Chloé’s heart drops as she realizes she _does_ know that voice, the voice of her old teammate, the voice of the true fox. A voice she wasn’t expecting to hear again outside of recordings. “ _Ladybug needs your help.”_

Chloé scoffs, mentally pulling herself back together as Sabrina tilts her head questioningly. “Of course she does,” she says, glancing to the window. “Where’s the Akuma? Are you bringing my Miraculous?”

Rena snorts. “ _You sure haven’t changed,”_ she says. “ _No Akuma. Meet us on the roof of your school at 1700.”_

Chloé blinks. “What’s going on?”

” _Caron,”_ Rena says. “ _I’m planning to send a message._ ”

”What message?”

” _ **We stand with Ladybug.** ”_

The phone disconnects, and Chloé pulls it away, staring at it in confusion.

* * *

Alya taps the "disconnect call" button on her phone, then slumps against the brick wall at the edge of the park, letting her bones turn to jelly. _Well,_ she thought. _That call could have gone worse._

Trying to keep her cool around Chloé has always been... difficult, at best. From day one, Alya had been horrified by how the heiress treated Marinette; there were few things that could have redeemed her in Alya's eyes. And then she'd gone and made herself ground zero for Akuma attacks. Alya can't even get close to her without getting the urge to puke, and she can't tap her phone charm in front of Chloé without fear that Chloé is going to assume she's spying on her and get her suspended again.

And yet, against Miraculer and Mayura, Queen Bee had done something unprecedented... and fought off an Akuma _after_ it had already infected her. She'd turned down an offer from Mayura that Alya was _sure_ she'd have taken. Even though she'd been fired, her faith in Ladybug had been so strong that she'd overcome her self-obsession to save them all.

Alya closes her eyes, pressing her palm to her forehead. She hopes calling her was the right move. Marinette needs everyone in her corner that she can possibly get right now.

"Hey babe?"

Alya opens her eyes to see her boyfriend standing not quite in front of her—more a little off to the side, not intruding on her space. He's looking at her with the soft eyes he always wears when he's worried.

"Everything's fine, babe," she sighs. "Just... had to make a tough decision."

Nino leans his back against the wall. "You sure?" he says. "I saw you walk past the spot where Pixelator got hit and you didn't reach for your phone." He purses his lips. "It looked like you were clutching your chest, actually."

Alya swallows. "Ah," she says. "Yeah." She glances at Marinette and Adrien, who seem to be steadily reddening while they try desperately not to verbally trip over each other—oh man, no _wonder_ Ladybug's never been receptive to Chat—and definitely aren't paying attention to her. She reaches into her shirt, fishing the chain around her neck and producing a familiar fox-tail necklace. "This is... a bit more effective."

Nino's eyes widen, then narrow. "You bought a replica?" he says. "If it works, I guess..."

Alya shakes her head. "Trixx?"

She feels tiny paws on her neck as the fox pokes his head out from Alya's thick russet mane. "Hello, Mari Tòti!"

Nino blinks. " _What._ "

Alya grimaces. "Sorry I didn't say anything," she says, crossing her arms over her stomach. "Adrien was right there, and... well..."

"I getcha," Nino says, looking at their friends. The expression on his face is hard to read—she can't tell if he's actually hurt, if he understands, or if he just is having trouble caring. She can tell he's having a bad day—they all are.

She reaches into her pocket. "Got something for you," she says, holding up the familiar jade pendant.

Nino's eyebrows pop. "Is that what I think it is?" he says.

Alya grins. "Put it on and see," she says, pressing it into his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mari Tòti means "turtle husband" in Hatian Creole (according to google translate).

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr.](http://www.galahadwilder.tumblr.com)


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